


Rapture

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:41:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: The solitary life of classical music appreciator Gold is turned upside down when violin prodigy Belle French moves into the apartment next to his own.





	1. Chapter 1

The bell rings right after Gold has put the new CD into the player and he has settled himself back into his armchair. Grimacing in annoyance, he takes a firm sip of scotch, telling himself that he isn't expecting anyone - he never is - and that whoever is bothering him like this will leave soon enough if he doesn't get the door.

When the bell chimes again, he decides to have the concierge fired first thing tomorrow. After all, he isn't paying as much money for this luxury apartment as he is only for people to still pester him like this. Between this and the seemingly endless renovation of the house next to his own, he's starting to wonder whether it won't be a good idea to find a new home, a place which offers some actual peace and quiet.

After the bell has been rung a third time, he bares his teeth and slams his glass of scotch back onto the table. Grasping his cane, he makes his way to the door as quickly as he can, unlocking it and throwing it open.

He finds a young woman standing in the hallway, her arm raised as if she was about to ring his doorbell once again. For some reason, she's carrying a bouquet of flowers, and her eyes are the bluest he's ever seen.

"I was beginning to fear you weren't home," she chirps, offering the flowers to him. "I'm here to introduce myself. My name is Belle French, your new neighbor."

"I don't care," he says brusquely.

Strictly speaking, that isn't true: it's obnoxious to say the least to find that the apartment next to his own is apparently inhabited again after all, especially by such a young and offensively cheerful slip of a woman.

"At least let me apologize for the trouble that the renovation of my new home must have caused you. I'm afraid it took longer than anticipated to build the studio in the spare room and I hope you weren't bothered too much by the noise."

"Well, I was, and some flowers and a smile aren't going to change that. Goodbye, Miss French. Don't ever bother me again."

He slams the door in her face, wanting to make very clear to her that she isn't welcome here. He is somewhat calmed by the knowledge that she probably won't ever try to contact him again in any way.

Sitting down again and reassuring himself of the quietness around him, Gold reaches for the remote control of his impressive stereo installation. He's read so much about the CD which he just put into the player, that he can't avoid listening to it any longer.

There's of course _no way_ that the merely thirty-two years old violinist is actually as good as people say. Those so-called critics are no doubt biased by her appearance, the flimsy dress she wears on the cover of the album wholly unsuitable for any remotely serious musician.

Still, Jefferson gave him the CD and for the sake of his one and only acquaintance he's willing to listen to it. Once. If only to gather more arguments why she hardly deserves all the credit which is bestowed on her.

From the moment he hears the first seconds of the first song, Gold forgets all about his prejudices. The music is lovelier than just about everything he ever heard before, played with great, undeniable skill. Immediately enchanted, he closes his eyes to focus on the melodies as much as he can.

His scotch forgotten, he lets the music wash over him, allows it to move him in a way few things and fewer people have ever done. It fills him with warmth that even the most expensive of scotch doesn't create, all but enveloping him in a cozy bubble he doesn't ever want to get out of again.

He remains comfortably still in his chair for the entire duration of the album, letting many minutes pass afterwards before rousing himself again. When he does, it's to reach for the remote control to begin listening to the CD from the beginning once more.

Gold grabs the cover of the disc while he's at it, only to almost drop it in recognition when he properly looks at it for the first time. He may not have paid attention to it before beyond the poor excuse of a dress worn by the woman on the cover, but now he can't stop looking at her picture, her eyes the deepest of blue.

Any doubt he may have had about her identity - or rather, that of his new neighbor - is gone when it fully dawns on him that the woman who just introduced herself to him used the same name as the one which is printed on the cover of the CD.

His breath catches in his throat when it dawns on him that _Belle French_ has come to live right next to him… and that he has been unforgivably rude to her. As if that isn't bad enough in its own right, he's beginning to see that he actually _wants_ to be on good terms with the person who makes the most beautiful music he's ever heard.

Never mind that she doubtlessly doesn't want to spend only one more second in his company.


	2. Chapter 2

Gold has rarely felt more like the coward he is than when he lingers on the safe side of his front door, trying to calm his nerves. It's ridiculous, really: he can negotiate billion dollar deals without breaking a sweat. But here he is, flustered and uncertain how to approach his new neighbor Belle French.

He has somewhat accepted that he'll never get along with her due to his earlier harshness towards her, no matter how much he wishes now that the two of them could interact in a friendly manner.

Still, he's very much aware that he and he alone is to blame for ruining any chance of properly getting to know the incredibly talented woman who has moved in next to him. All he can do now is trying to reassure her that he doesn't actually have any ill intentions towards her.

Mentally bracing himself and gathering his peace offerings, Gold makes his way into the hallway of the top floor of the apartment building, towards the only other front door there. Breathing in deeply, he rings her bell, taking a step back and looking as pleasant as he can in a hopeful and rather desperate attempt to appear as friendly as he can.

Belle French opens the door a moment later, her eyes widening slightly when she spots him. She doubtlessly doesn't like that he shows up like this, but at least she doesn't slam the door in his face, like he half expected her to do after he did exactly that to her yesterday.

"Miss French, I'm here to apologize for my appalling behavior when you introduced yourself. I… I understand very well that you don't want to have anything to do with me. I just want to welcome you here after all and let you know that my horrible rudeness towards you won't happen again."

"I greatly appreciate that, Mr. Gold. I suppose I unknowingly approached you at a bad time, but that gives you no excuse to behave the way you did."

"Indeed not. My deepest apologies, Miss French," he mutters, figuring that it's best not to tell her that the 'bad time' she refers to is more like a bad decade - or rather, three of them. "I… please accept these gifts. It's the least I can do for you. I hope you'll have a lovely time here."

Belatedly realizing that he's still holding the presents he gathered for her, he quickly hands the huge bouquet of flowers to her - and one of the best bottles of wine from his own collection and the large box of premium hand-made chocolates.

She smiles a little at him when she takes the items, kindness practically radiating off her. Extremely talented or not, he realizes yet more what a fool he has been - and doubtlessly still is - when he's beginning to see that maybe, just perhaps, they might have become _friends_ if it weren't for his outburst yesterday.

"Wow, that's impressive!" she says, as they rather awkwardly transfer the bulky gifts.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I hope you'll enjoy at least one of those."

"Definitely," she says, putting down the wine and chocolates in favor of examining the flowers, by far the least valuable of the three gifts. "This is a very beautiful bouquet, Mr. Gold. Thank you so much."

"You… you like flowers, Miss French?" he mutters dumbly.

"I do! I love them. My father was a florist, I used to work in his shop."

"Did you?" he asks, hoping that she'll tell him more about herself - and finding that small talk is at least as difficult to handle as the rejection he expected from her.

"I did. I quite enjoyed it, but it wasn't the best job I ever had."

"I can imagine."

"You know what I do for a living?"

"I do, yes. In fact, I was about to listen to your CD when you rang my doorbell yesterday. I didn't realize who you were at the time. Only afterwards, when I had listened to your music…"

He falters, for once not knowing how to express himself.

"Did you like it?" she asks, for some reason sounding rather excited, as if she _cares_ what he thinks about her music.

"I'm a fan," he blurts out, to his horror realizing that he's _blushing_.

"I sort of gathered," she says, looking rather flushed as well. "The flowers, I mean. Purple hyacinth for forgiveness, cattail for peace… and purple heather for admiration and fern for fascination."

"Indeed," he mutters weakly, belatedly realizing that she _obviously_ must have caught on to that no longer quite so subtle message, having worked in a florist shop and all that.

"You're in real estate, are you not?" she asks, to his relief changing the subject.

"I am, yes. What gave that away?"

"I may have googled the name on your mail box."

"I see," he murmurs, his earlier relief gone with the discovery that now she hasn't only personally experienced his unpleasant character, but that she also must have read all about his at least equally bad reputation.

"You can come in, if you like," she says, opening the door yet further. "It'll be much more comfortable to continue this conversation inside."

"You… are you… you _want_ me to come into your house!?" he splutters, beyond bewildered to receive this invitation right after the implication that she must know exactly who he is.

"I do! I'd love to get to know you better, but feel free to tell me if that sentiment isn't mutual."

"It is," he quickly reassures her, barely able to believe his good luck... and her incredible kindness, for that matter. "It _is_. I'd very much like to get to know you better as well."

"Well then," she says, gesturing for him to enter her home. "I hope you enjoy wine as well, because _someone_ has to prevent me from drinking all that on my own."

Almost giddy at the prospect of getting to know her better _and_ sharing the wine with her, Gold eagerly sets foot in her home for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

Gold somehow must have made a good impression on her when he visited her, because Belle has accepted his invitation to come over to his house as well. Now she is casually sitting in his living room, the first guest to visit him in all the time he has lived there.

Handing her a glass of iced tea, he is struck yet more by her radiance and kindness now that she spreads it in the confines of his usually so quiet and rather gloomy home. It's easy to forget that she's such a talented violin player, for her cheerful laughter and broad smiles fill him with yet more warmth and joy than her music does.

"You've been listening to my CD again?" she asks, gesturing at the cover of her album as she makes herself comfortable on his couch.

"I did, yes. I listen to it every evening."

"Wow, that's really flattering."

"It gets better every time," he adds, because it's true and because he rather likes the flush on her cheeks… and on his own, for that matter.

"Do you have any favorite songs?"

"I love them all, but especially the last one. The melody is so… enchanting, I suppose. Almost haunting. I can't listen to it often enough."

"That's so lovely to hear," she says, beaming at him almost as if his opinion matters more to her than anyone else's. "What do you think of the beginning of the song? Not too upbeat compared to the rest of it?"

"I think it's perfect exactly the way it is, although this makes me wonder what else you had in mind for that song."

"I was thinking about starting it a bit slower," she says, beginning to hum the tune at a less quick pace. "I might as well get my violin to show it to you properly."

Just like that, he finds himself sitting opposite Belle and her violin a mere minute later, for a private performance of already his favorite artist _and_ companion of all time. Anything remotely resembling this seemed utterly impossible a few weeks ago and he's yet more grateful than before that he apologized to her the way he did for his behavior when they first met – and that she accepted said very rare apology, of course.

He has always regretted the soundproof walls between their homes. When it was constructed and he still had no idea what – whom - it was for, he wanted nothing more than to have peace and quiet again... only to loathe the barrier between them for an entirely different reason when it became clear that he would never able to hear Belle French play live next door because of said soundproof wall.

But now she's in _his_ own home and, better yet, she's looking expectantly at him as she plays several varieties of his favorite of her songs and asks him on his opinion on them. Soon, he's barely aware of what he's saying anymore, too overcome with the fact that she is here with him like this to begin with.

Belle apparently likes what he says as well, for she writes down everything he tells her, sometimes asking him to elaborate. He's especially pleased when she begins to play songs he has never heard before, beyond thrilled that she's composing new music, with _him_ as her audience and critic.

"Here's something I composed last night," she says, putting her violin back against her shoulder after taking a few more sips of iced tea. "I'd love to hear what you think."

Gold listens attentively, trying - and not entirely succeeding - not to get carried away by the sight of her, bright blue eyes and shining chestnut curls, sitting in his living room almost as if she'll never leave.

There's something about the music - more sorrowful than he's heard from her so far, sometimes almost dark, but intermingled with the light melodies she has become famous for - which captures his attention yet more than usual.

"That's beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes still closed after she has stopped playing. "Incredibly beautiful. I'm certain I've never heard it before, but it sounds almost…"

"Familiar?" she offers when he struggles to find the right word to express the way the song resonates with him.

"It does seem familiar, yes."

"That's interesting. I composed this when thinking about you, actually."

"You did what?!" he splutters, bewildered - and beyond delighted - that she apparently has made any song, let alone such a _beautiful_ one, inspired by _him_ apparently.

"I don't really know what happened exactly. I was just playing and thinking about our meetings, about _you_ , and… well, this really composed itself."

"Could you perhaps play it again?" he asks, yet more interested in the melody now that he knows its background. "I'd love to hear it again."

"Of course," she cheerfully replies, almost as if she's grateful for his request.

When she plays the song again, her eyes closed in concentration and her body gently swaying along with her music, it's almost as if she's forgotten that he's there… that she's in fact in _his_ house, with a man who has such a horrid reputation.

But when the song is over and he claps his hands in appreciation of it, her eyes are bright and wholly accepting when she looks back at him as she continues playing. This melody is different though than before; whereas it is in parts very similar to what she just played, it's almost as if the song which he somehow inspired is now mixed with a second, very different song.

With its lightness and cheerfulness, this second theme rather reminds him of her, but that doesn't explain why it's mixed with his song like two halves of a whole - something that's greater than the sum of its parts.

"What is this song inspired by?" he asks throatily when she stops playing after a few minutes, discreetly wiping his hands over his eyes to wipe away the tears which have gathered there without his permission.

"I can't tell you yet," she says almost conspiratorially, for some reason _winking_ at him.

That gesture catches him yet further off guard. As if she hasn't shaken his life up enough yet, she stands up to place her violin carefully on the table. Subsequently, she sits down next to him rather than return the place where she was before, like he isn't some sort of monster.

"That's enough music for now, for as far as I'm concerned," she says, casually placing her hand on his arm, leaving him shivering. "What about you? Did you make any interesting deals today?"

Wondering what on earth is happening to him, Gold doesn't know what's stranger: the discovery that she seems to be genuinely interested in spending time with him like this, or the undeniable fact that he very much does so himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Gold happily settles himself on the couch, graciously accepting the tea which Belle offers him. It's amazing, really, how he feels more at home in her house than in his own. That makes it better yet that the two of them visit each other at least twice a week now.

It has become a ritual of sorts for her to play her violin while he is at her side, simply listening to her play. The more time he spends with her, the more impressed he is with her music and, yet more so, the utter loveliness of her as a person.

"I'm working on another new song," she tells him, settling down next to him, her violin already in place.

"That's wonderful," he says, no longer bothered by how genuinely happy he is for her. "I'm in awe of how much you play and compose."

"I'm rather surprised by it as well. I've played this much for years, but all the composing… I've only began doing that so much recently. It actually started when I met you."

She lowers her eyes, and so does he, not knowing what to think of this exactly, but taking it as a compliment regardless.

"What new song are you working on?" he asks, probably never getting used to be involved in any creative process like this, let alone _hers_.

"It's a rather sad one this time. I've always wanted to make a song inspired by my mother. As you know, she passed away when I was a child. I never thought I could create something to do her justice, but now I finally think I got something."

Bringing the violin back to her shoulder, she begins to play again, every once in awhile stopping to start over or change a few chords. He listens breathlessly, trying to imagine the woman who gave birth to and raised the one and only friend he's ever had.

Still, when the music turns a lot more sorrowful, he is reminded of his son, of losing him. Grief of a kind he hasn't known for years wells up inside of him now that he thinks back more strongly on his boy than he has in a long time.

Glancing at her face, he finds that there are tears in her eyes as well. Yet more moved by experiencing this together with Belle, the control he remained for so long over himself breaks without warning.

Gold doesn't realize that he must have let out something resembling a sob until the moment she lowers her violin and looks back at him. She immediately puts her instrument down and rushes to his side, enveloping him in an all encompassing embrace without hesitance.

For some reason, that touches him yet more than her music and her own reaction to it. It should horrify him to be held like this, to let another person see him in such a state, but all he can do is return her expression of solace, pulling her into his arms in turn.

"You lost someone, too?" she asks, her voice muffled by the fabric of his waistcoat.

"My son," he chokes, burying his face in the crook of her neck and shoulders.

When one of her hands anchors itself in his hair and the other caresses him with gentleness which brings only more tears to his eyes, there is no more holding back.

Wanting her to know about his son, _needing_ to share this with her, he finds himself telling her everything about his boy and what his loss did to him in a way he never has before, in a way he didn't know he could.

His tale takes a long time, both because he often can barely get any words out at all and, mostly, because there's so much he wants to tell her. She talks about her mother when he finally has nothing more to say, her grief so very similar to his own.

Even when neither of them is talking any longer, it seems like they're communicating still, as if their still running tears tell stories of their own. But rather than yet more despair, there is comfort in their tight embrace, so much more than he thought there ever could be.

Belle caresses his hair and although he can't imagine that his touches will feel nearly as good if he were to return the favor, he wants to try regardless. Telling himself that she might be pleased if he can do only a little of what she's doing for him, Gold questioningly brings his hands to her thick curls.

He touches them experimentally when she hums in approval and cuddles yet closer to him. Marveling at how very soft her hair is, the way it vaguely smells of flowers, he runs his fingers through it, thrilled when she makes little noises of unmistakable delight.

His grief slowly but surely is replaced with something else entirely, something more encouraging than anything he has ever known in his entire life. He closes his eyes, happily surrendering to it, and enjoys their nearness as much as he can.

Gold is quite certain that he could actually fall asleep like this, despite the close presence of another human being - or rather, _because_ of it, because of _her._ A part of him _wants_ to fall asleep exactly like this.

Still, there's no way that _Belle_ will appreciate him doing anything of the sort.

"It must be getting late," he says, forcing himself to still his hands on her back. "I should probably be going."

"Of course, you are free to go if you want to go to your home, but I'd be very happy if you wouldn't go just yet."

"You wouldn't?" he echoes dumbly, after everything they've already shared still finding it difficult to believe that she'd voluntarily spend yet more time with him like this.

"Of course not! In case you haven't noticed, I'm very fond of you."

"I... that feeling is likewise, Belle," he replies, probably never getting used to being allowed – _encouraged -_ to use her first name like this.

Gold doesn't know what's stranger: the fact that he enjoys being with another person like this so very much or that she somehow likes this as much as he does himself.

"Let's stay like this a little while longer?"

"I'd love to," he murmurs, tentatively beginning to caress her hair once more.


	5. Chapter 5

Smiling a little at the light snoring sound which reaches his ears, Gold looks fondly down his chest. It's beyond him why she's requested this, but it's an understatement to say the least that he's grateful that Belle wants to lie in his embrace like this.

Her relaxed arms around him and her lovely curls tickling his face, the front of her torso is pressed lightly against his own. He closes his eyes as well, his hands continuing to carefully caress her hair. He couldn't have imagined that he would ever be with anyone like this, but here they are.

The fireplace in his living room is lit for the first time since… well, probably forever, empty plates and wine glasses on the table. For all intends and purposes, it seems like a scene out of the life of a very happy couple.

He is happy, _very_ happy, and Gold is quite certain that she is as well. But of course, they're not together like a couple… although he wishes for the two of them to live like that after all with increasing intensity.

Still, they have _this_ , and if she's willing to be with him like this, that's more than he could ever hope for. They may have become friends, best of friends, but there's _no way_ that someone as lovely and kind and talented as Belle would want anything even slightly more than that with a man like him.

She tightens her hold on him a little, cuddling more closely against him in her sleep. No matter how much he likes to, he doesn't dare to wonder what it might be like if his hands could stray down her body... if she were to wake up and kiss him.

Indeed, they shouldn't stay like this at all. She can't sleep properly this way and she's got an important week ahead of her.

"Wake up, dearest," he murmurs, shaking her shoulders lightly.

She makes a noise of protest, the way she presses herself yet more tightly against him leaving him gasping. It also makes him actually eager for her to get off of him, lest she finds out about his unrequited feelings for her after all.

"So comfortable," she sighs, still half asleep. "I don't want to get up."

"This won't be so comfortable anymore when you stay like this for much longer," he adds, jostling her a bit more firmly. "It won't do for you to have an aching body tomorrow morning."

"That's true," she says, yawning. "Still, I don't know if I'll be able to sleep on my own at all. I'm nervous."

He nods in sympathy, hardly daring to wonder how _he_ would feel if he was in the final preparations to give four classical solo concerts in one of the largest venues of the world.

"There's no need to be nervous, dearest."

"Why not?" she says, right as he tells himself that he doesn't miss her nearness when she sits down on the other side of the couch.

"Because you'll be wonderful," he whispers, despite himself inching closer towards her once more. "Because you _are_ wonderful."

"Thank you, that's so nice of you to say," she whispers, leaning in to him again as well. "For the record, I think you're wonderful, too."

Before he can try to talk her out of that ridiculous notion, she angles her head towards his. His breath catching in his throat and his eyes fluttering closed, Gold reminds himself that there's _no way_ that she's doing what he thinks she's doing.

She closes the final distance between her regardless, pressing her lips lightly against his by now stubbled cheek, cupping its twin in the palm of her hand.

"As I said, wonderful," she repeats, the words whispered against his skin.

Not knowing what to do, how to reciprocate, all Gold can do is sit there, wishing that this moment will never end. But ending it does eventually as she moves slightly away from him, prompting him to open his eyes again.

Although she isn't touching him any longer, she is still right in front of him, her face still turned towards him and her lips slightly parted. He regards her like this for a long minute, wondering what on earth makes her want to sit with him like this.

Finally realizing that this might be an unspoken invitation, he slowly brings his hand to her jaw, brushing his fingers against it reverently. When she sighs happily as he does so, Gold dares to lean in to her very gradually, pressing his lips lightly against the flawless pale skin of her cheek.

He lingers there for longer than he should, but he can't bring himself to break away from her for a considerable time. Indeed, he once more wishes they can stay like this forever, all his senses filled with her.

Strangely, she doesn't withdraw either, as if she too enjoys this to at least some extent. When she moves eventually, all she does is tilt her head a little, her lips parted wider than before. If he didn't know any better, he'd really think that she wants him to kiss her.

He quickly sits back, fearing that it would be treacherously easy to persuade himself that such an action would actually be welcomed. Belle remains sitting on his couch, still not making any sign of going anywhere else.

"I don't want to go home," she says, looking at him intently.

"You shouldn't sleep on this couch. You're more than welcome to, of course, but you'll regret the strain on your muscles first thing tomorrow."

"Well, I can not go home _and_ sleep in a bed."

Only when she looks meaningfully in the direction of his bedroom, it dawns on him what she's referring to. His first - and second - instinct is to tell her that this is a very, very bad idea; but he can't deny that, since she for some seems reason _wants_ this, there's nothing he'd rather do.

"If that's what you wish…"

"It is," she replies softly. "If you are comfortable with that."

"I am," he mutters, more grateful than anything else – for now at least - that platonically sharing his bed is apparently yet another not-quite-a-couple thing that they do.


	6. Chapter 6

Feeling like there's no more skin left on the palms of his hands, but not wanting to applaud for Belle French with any less enthusiasm, Gold couldn't be happier than he is. It's almost as if he himself is standing on the stage after his first, hugely successful solo concert for all these people.

He never imagined that he could be so happy for someone else, but Belle has taught him otherwise - like she has taught him so many, invaluable things, probably without even realizing.

That said, he _could_ be happier, but he doesn't allow himself to think along these lines. He has come to terms with the fact that he's desperately and hopelessly in love with her – and that she'll obviously never feel the same way. Especially not now that she's become yet more famous and revered because of these concerts. She can choose just about anyone – there's absolutely no need for her to stick with an unattractive and bitter cripple twice her age.

Indeed, if she were to know that he so very much longed to take her in his arms when she woke up on the other side of his bed mere days ago, she wouldn't ever want to visit him again or even look at him once more.

When the applause finally quiets down a little, Belle puts down her violin and is handed a microphone. Gold is barely able to focus on her words, the melody of the song she played last repeating in his head over and over again.

It was the song she played for him before, the one that reminded him of the melody she composed for him while being combined with… well, with something which makes him think of kissing and holding hands and all sorts of other things he can never have, especially not with her.

His attention returns to her gracious speech when he finds her looking directly at him, just in time to hear her dedicating this night to the most important person in her life. Even Gold can't deny that _he_ is that person. They may not be romantically involved, but he's got _this_ , and that's more he could ever ask for.

When she bows again to indicate the ending of the concert and accepts the flowers which are handed to her from every direction, he offers the huge bouquet he acquired especially for the occasion to her as well.

Their fingers brushing and electricity running through him as he offers her the flowers from the front row, Gold still can't help but wish that he would have had the courage to have included at least one species to express his love and desire for her. If only because it can convince him for even one second that he actually has a chance of being with her.

But he has always been and will always be a coward, so he tucks his feelings for her as far away inside of him as he can while she disappears backstage. By the time he receives a text message with the location of her dressing room and an invitation for him to join himself there, he's convinced that he can continue pretending that he isn't in love with her.

Almost.

Still, all of that is forgotten when he locates the door of her dressing room and softly knocks on it. She is more radiant than he's ever seen her when she immediately opens the door, ushering him in. Belle throws herself into his arms as soon as the door is closed behind him and he hugs her back for all he is worth, as always savoring her nearness.

"You did so wonderful, dearest. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, I really appreciate that. Your support means the world to me."

 _You_ mean the world to me, he thinks, but he can't say it, not even if he wanted to. He is entirely lost in her embrace, which is yet warmer and softer - more wonderful in each and every way, really – than usual.

"Did you find out what the song is about which I played at the end of the show?" she asks, playing with some strands of his hair in a manner which makes it hard for him to think at all. " _Our_ song?"

"I don't think so," he says a little reluctantly, the melody by now reminding him yet more of the sort of relationship they can never have.

Running his fingers a little over her back despite himself, it belatedly dawns on him that her skin seems rather… bare. Slightly distancing himself from her to be able to find out why it feels that way, his eyes widen in shock and something a lot worse when he finally notices that the fabric of her gorgeous dress is bunched up around her waist, as if she was in the process of sliding it down her body.

He looks away quickly, knowing only too well that he shouldn't gawk at her like this... but not before he has instinctively taken in the sight of her gentle pale curves and her barely functional looking blue bra.

"I was changing when you arrived," she explains, although those words only confuse him further.

Why didn't she _finish_ changing before she opened the door? He'd almost think that Belle _wants_ him to see her like this, but of course there's no way that she'd actually would like his treacherous eyes going all over her.

"Do you like the way I look?"

"I've never seen anything or anyone more beautiful," he mutters, the almost ethereal sight of her branded into his memory even as he continues to look away from her.

"You do?!"

"How can I not?!" he whispers, resisting the urge to glance back at her, to drink in the glorious sight of her.

When she reaches for him and cups his cheeks in her hands, a bright smile on her face, it feels like they perhaps aren't at the beginning of the end of their relationship after all.

"Did it ever occur to you that I feel exactly the same way about you?"

The reply that this notion very much did _not_ enter his mind is forgotten as well when she slowly but unmistakably leans in to him, closing the distance between them until her lips are a mere inch away from his.

"The inspiration for our song was when I imagined what it would be like if the two of us were to be together," she whispers, tangling her hands in his hair.

"Do you… you _want_ that?" he breathes, barely able to process that notion even as she nods enthusiastically.

"Very, very much."

"I thought you could never be interested in me like that," he responds, happily drowning in the blue of her eyes.

"Well, I thought the same about you," she replies, her caresses leaving him trembling. "You never expressed any interest!"

"I gladly would have done so if I had any idea that such interest would be welcome."

"I slept _on top of you_ and talked you into sharing a bed with me!"

"I've been a fool, haven't I?" he rasps, realization finally dawning.

"Only when you don't express your interest right now," she murmurs, brushing her lips against his.

His heart surging, Gold does exactly that.


End file.
